Samothrace
by switchonlights
Summary: Though victory is imminent, Thor calls upon his cousin: the bright Nike. But despite their affection for each other, Nike may find leaving Loki behind far more difficult than she expected, for there is a veritable golden apple in his hand - an offer no Olympian can resist.
1. Chapter 1

Thor looks around the table, large hand rubbing his chin. "I do know of one who may help us, if she thinks our cause worthy of notice."

"Great," Romanov says. "How do we contact her? Where is she?"

"Where is the source of most conflict on your planet right now?"

"Israel," Fury interjects. "There was a new bombing last night."

Thor nods decisively, his gaze flickering out over the room, and out the windows. "That's where she is."

They send out a message through every armed service they can find in the area, nothing specific, just a vague notion of a message. Less than half an hour later there's a commotion before the doors.

"It's fine, they called me." The doors slide open, and a girl in military fatigues strides through, AK-47 in grip, headscarf framing her face. The group of soldiers that follow her seem confused about whether or not to shoot; she can't be more than twenty.

"Cousin!" Thor grins broadly. The girl returns his smile. They do not look related; her olive skin complexion glows against the drab green of her clothes.

"Hello Thor! Still putting off the wedding I see?" she winks good naturedly. The AK-47 has been set on the table. With a snap, she pulls of her hijab and folds it on top of the gun. Oddly enough, the hair that tumbles out is the same honeyed tone as her skin. "None the matter, it's been two millennium, I don't see how another hundred years is going to change things."

"Well, I assumed you wouldn't mind the delay."

She unzips her jacket, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. "Yes, well, I don't mind, of course, but mother-" she snaps the jacket once, and it transforms, molting away all of the military and turning into a sleek blazer. Only its color remains. "mother is chomping at the bit. Imagine that: a 'virgin' so desperate to marry off her only daughter." Pulling on the blazer, she buttons it, shakes out her shoulder length hair, and turns to the rest of the table. "So sorry about that. I came straight from the West Bank." The headscarf disappears impossibly into the pocket of her tight fighting pants. But the gun is gone, replaced by a necklace.

It could almost be called gaudy: a pair of golden wings on a chain. They're not small - a statement - but settle just beneath her collar bone as they have for the past eon. "Thor, are you going to introduce me?"

"Of course. Allow me to present, my cousin, Ni-"

"Nicky is fine." she cuts him off. "No need to be so formal."

"I'm Agent Romanov, this is Banner, Fury, Rogers, Stark-" she goes on, but it's obvious the girl isn't listening. She's considering Romanov with glittering hazel eyes.

"Natasha. Yes. I've had my eye on you for sometime now. And you - Rogers? - yes. You're one of mine too." she settles into a chair, looking back up at Thor. "Your team is stacked if that's what you wanted."

"We need your help."

"Against Loki?" Thor grimaces in response, and the smile leaves Nicky's face. "Yes, that's what I was worried of. Have you tried talking to him?"

"He's beyond reason."

The girl gives a thoughtful sigh. "Come cousin." she stands and takes Thor's arm. "I would talk to you away from all these eyes."

They wander off the bridge before Thor speaks. "You look lovely, Nike."

"Hmph. I've been in the desert for the past six decades. These humans don't want to give me any rest."

"If I remember correctly, you took rather a long one several years ago, refused to leave your bed."

"Ah, yes, well there was a nymph in it. Besides, I wanted them to learn a lesson in the futility of war."

"Is Athena truly becoming angry?"

"More from father's temper than your persistent delaying. He's worried that soon procrastination will turn into cancellation."

"There is-"

"A woman, I know. You need not explain yourself to me, Thor." she smiles softly at him. "Enjoy her while you can; they do not last long."

"Says the voice of experience?"

A regretful sigh escapes her lips. "I cannot grant all my heros immortality, cuz."

"Will you help us then?" The doors slide open as they return to the bridge.

"My blessing is not simply bought," she says with a smirk. "Well, it is, actually."

"What do you want, Nike."

"My dear, don't sound so distraught. I just need some assistance finding my head."

"Your head?" he chuckled. "I don't know if I can help you with that."

"Oh hush!" the jovial tone has returned to her voice. "The Winged Victory of Samothrace."

"I see, this is about your vanity."

She settles onto the edge of the table, ignoring every one else. "You should know my family well enough to know that of course it is."

"I will help you, if we win the battle."

"Of course you'll win. I'll be expecting hecatombs by the dozen." The look she gives over her shoulder is not meant to be haughty, she loves humans more than any of her kin, has lives among them more, but it was how she was raised. She has been taught to raise her chin and narrow her almond-shaped eyes. "So tell me, what is the plan?"


	2. Chapter 2

The room is dark, the cell itself brightly lit.

"I see you out there," Loki says with a smile. It's warm considering the circumstances. "They've turned you against me, have they?"

"Sadly, dearest. But you know how I feel about my fold."

"Sheep, cousin. Nothing but sheep. Join me, rule them."

She lays her forehead against the glass, looking at the way it curves around. "Life is different on Olympus than it is for you, Loki. I have been drowning in sorrows for the past millennium, unable to keep my feet in both worlds. Torn between my hunger, and what is morally correct."

"I would make you a queen with more sacrifices than you could consume laid out at your feet."

"I was meant for you, originally Loki. Surely you know this." She stares at him, that same haughty expression. "But I will not be manipulated by petty jealousies. Yield before I am forced to tip the scales."

"I offer you a golden apple, and you reject it?"

"I am not the fairest, as it were, and so I learned sitting on the sidelines, that golden apples yield only discord."

As she walks away, the Victory-Flight throbs slightly on her sternum; battle is imminent.

She finds Thor lying comically on one of the small beds in a cabin. The sight of him filling up the space makes laughter bubble up through her sadness. Even after Troy, even after the Cold War, and all the infighting both caused on Olympus, fighting between brothers still hurts her; neither side can truly be the victor.

"Ugh," she groans as she stretches out beside him. "I'm sorry to disrupt your idyllic monogamy, but I'm tired." She's grateful for the fact that he's removed his armor as she lays her head on his chest.

"Yes, you should rest while you can." he doesn't shy away, he's used to her closeness. It's a side-effect of her constant joy. It will make her a good wife, when the time finally comes. "Though, I'm not sure this bed fits us both."

"Too bad," she snuggles a little closer, forcing him to put an arm around her. "I'm too exhausted to move."

"Who are you siding in Israel?"

"I'm not yet sure. Perhaps neither, perhaps both." she yawns. "Now quit speaking, I'm going to sleep."

Within several moments, she's asleep as a goddess can be. Thor feels her breaths slow, rising and falling. There's nothing to do but lie still and wait for her to awaken.

* * *

_They hear her long before she's seen. The laughter echoes off the high arches of the Asgardian palace, accompanied by the sound of several pairs of quick feet headed towards the feast hall. _

_ "Nike!" _

_ "Run faster, Echo!" _

_ Thor grins, and turns to his brother. Loki is leaned forward on the bench, eyes lighter than they were a moment before. "You seem to be in for quite the bride, Loki." They are young men, each on one side of their twentieth year in Midgardian eyes. _

_ The laughs grow louder and louder until three girls appear, clutching each other, faces red with exertion. They hover for a moment, dwarfed by the doorway, until one saunters forward. Her skin is tanned by the constant sun of Olympus, and her hair lightened until the two are the same hue. An olive-colored tunic falls from her shoulders, ending just above her knees. Leather sandals lace-up her calves. She's younger than the brothers in Midgardian years and in her mind, hardly fourteen, though the eons her eyes have seen stretch farther back. _

_ "My apologies, cousins," she giggles, with a glance back at her friends. "I believe we weren't to meet until this evening." _

_ "It's no problem at all," Loki reassures quickly, standing. He steps down the dais. "I'm Loki." _

_ "Nike." Her eyes are sharp but bright, gold mixed with the color of her tunic. "Allow me to introduce my attendants: Echo and Phoebe." _

_ "My brother, Thor." _

_ She inclines her head at the latter. "I believe, then, we should distance ourselves before our parents learn of our early meetings." _

_ "Yes. I- I hope you win your race." _

_ Backing up, she smiles slyly. "There's a reason I only ever race dryads: no one else stands a chance against me." She turns and takes off like an arrow, leather soles slapping against the marble. Her attendants complain about her unfair start, and laughter fills the halls again. _

_ Thor laughs as he descends the dais, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "I may just envy you that one!" _


	3. Chapter 3

"They're still trying to locate the Tesseract," Thor informs her. She's hardly blinked her eyes open, and is staring up at him. Her shield has not yet slid into place after sleep, leaving her strangely vulnerable.

"Hm?" she reaches a fist up to rub her eye. "Oh." Her legs swing over the side of the bed as she sits up. "Humans are so inefficient."

"And you have a better solution? Here, it's a drink favored by the Midgardians, it will help you to wake."

She wraps her hand around the mug. "Coffee, of course." A white film swirls on the surface; instant. "You forget I spend more time here than you do." Another yawn stretches her mouth. "Do you require my assistance with something?"

"No, only-"

"Then I'm sleeping until you need me." Setting the mug on the floor, she lays back down, body curling in with exhaustion. She yawns once more, mumbling through. "Haven't had a break since…" by the end of the sentence, sleep envelopes her once more. Thor shakes out the blanket and covers her with some amusement before leaving the cabin.

"You should be honored," Thor says, in response to inquiries about why Nicky was sleeping. "I was worried she would not agree to take sides."

"Yes, but 'we're her's'," Steve intones. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you're very lucky." His voice has dropped lower; he's angered by the man's tone. "It means that she considers you worthy of notice - and of glory."

"No offense, but girls do not grant glory. And I don't care who you say she is - she's a girl."

"You're correct, of course." said girl has appeared in the doorway without a sound. She's wearing her tunic now, her thin shoulders held back. "I do not grant glory - only your actions can do that. I just insure that they are remembered."

"And how do you do that?"

Her eyes flash at the accusatory tone. From a hidden pocket in the side of her tunic, she seemingly produces what looks like a piece of brittle: golden and smooth. "You've heard of Achilles, I presume? Of Henry V? Valor is not so easily forgotten." she offers a piece of ambrosia to Thor, who shakes his head. "You fight with valor, I will ensure your victory. And if you really impress me, well-" she gestures with a piece of the ambrosia before setting it in her mouth. "-let's just say it's been a while since that happened."

"Then why did all the men of my war fade away," Roger's asks. "They were much more deserving than me!"

"Humility does not for glory make, my dear. Neither does antagonism towards pagans, which most boys of your generation had. Now come, such dreary talk shouldn't be had."

Romanov has watched the whole exchange silently, neither buying into nor disregarding either side.

The ambrosia is soaking into her veins like fire, lighting up her eyes. She wants to run, play, scream with joy, not be entrapped on an iron vessel far above the earth, about to wage war.

_The court of Asgard lines the sides of the Great Hall. Golden light filters down from high windows, from the balcony behind. Loki stands straight, trying not to fidget as the procession enters. _

_ Thor leans forward. "They've made her up for you, brother." _

_ Nike walks, second in line behind her parents, looking immensely uncomfortable. Her hair has been pulled back from her face and curled. Her tunic is silk and edged with gold; a diadem of golden laurel leaves rests on her hair. Someone has brushed rouge over her already rosy cheeks, too pink against her tanned skin. But that is not what makes Loki stare. What catches his eye are the wings. _

_ They shimmer just beyond her shoulders, stretching out past her back. They are not corporeal things, more the idea of a wing, the imprint of white feathers upon the air. _

Magic._ he thinks. _That must be why no one else can see them. _he turns questioningly towards his mother, but she shakes her head slightly, redirecting his attention. _

_ The head of the procession is at the dais. Ares begins to speak, and Loki immediately wishes he hadn't. He is like Thor, only a thousand times worse; beneath the outward arrogance lies cruelty in place of jovial kindness. Next to him, Athena, a graceful, athletic woman with light hair and silver eyes. There is no kindness there, but no cruelty either, just disgust aimed at the man standing next to her. _

_ Ares speaks in Greek, and Athena translates, her Norse smooth and calm. _

_ "Your majesties, princes, we thank you for your hospitality. We hope that this union will be the beginning of relations with you, our cousins. Please allow us to present our daughter, Nike, Goddess of Victory, keeper of flight." At his last words, Ares steps aside, and the other does the same, finishing the statement. _

_ Chin held high, gaze almost lazy, Nike comes forward with the same sauntering step she had earlier. She does not speak or bow, simply inclines her head, eyes singing with mischief. Boldly, she winks at Loki, setting Thor to laughing. Even the AllFather hides a smile. _

_ "We are of course delighted to have such a lovely woman join our family, and our kingdom." _

_ At the words, Nike looses control over her face, and breaks into a grin. It's half-cynical, half filled with camaraderie. _

_ Ares gives a disapproving look, and barks something. The grin sinks into a smirk, and she inclines her head again. _

_ "Of course, forgive me." her Norse is not as fluid as her mother's. "I have…forgotten brides are not to smile." _

_ "Nike!" _

_ She rolls her eyes, making Thor laugh again. "Or speak." _

_ The feast follows, a grand affair with foods from both sides. Nike sits unabashedly close to Loki on the bench, not as any sort of attempt at impropriety, but simply because the number of people demand it. He's hyper-aware of her bare arm pressed against his sleeve. Uncomfortable, he does everything but look at her. _

_ Nike eats with her fingers: picking apart bits of meat, running bread through softened feta, taking olive pits from her mouth. The feast is gay: down below the dais, good-natured duels occur, friends testing their skills against others, faces red with drink. She watches them, eyes lost in thought. _

_ "Have you heard of the golden apple?" she asks suddenly, leaning back a little to look at Loki. He starts, glances in her direction, and shakes his head. "It was a feast, for a wedding, and my aunt - Eros - threw an apple into the midst." _

_ "Eros. Chaos, yes?" He says 'chaos' in Greek, then in Norse. She repeats it back, feeling the word. _

_ "Chaos. Yes, that is her. But this apple, it said 'for the fairest' on it -" she says the phrase, like him, in Greek, then - stumbling a little - in Norse. Her voice drops to a gleeful whisper as she glances down the table where Athena is in conversation with Frigga. "Hera, Aphrodite, and Mother began squabbling over it. I've never seen her so…" a furrow appears between her eyebrows as she searches for a word in Norse that isn't there. "thinking about looks?" _

_ "Vain." _

_ "Vain." she says it in Greek for him as well. "I've never seen her so vain about anything! They were like a storm. I thought the feast was going to break apart!" _

_ "So what happened?" _

_ She takes a sip of honeyed wine. "They made Paris choose." _

_ "Who?" _

_ "Paris. Human prince. He chose Aphrodite. Wants love more than…brains-" _

_ "Wisdom." _

_ "-wisdom, I suppose." She points out to the fights. Thor is involves now, swinging a sword against Hagar. "They made me think of it. Though, I feel if you gave them one inscribed with 'for the most valiant,' they would just fight until there was a victor." _

_ "And who would that be?" _

_ "Hm…" she scans the crowd. "I'm not sure. Too many yet remain. Oh-" her voice fades off suddenly, and Loki feels her hand find his almost accidentally as she looks for something to hold onto. He acquiesces. Ares has leaped down the dais and into the fray. "Oh no." _

_ "Is he-" _

_ "He doesn't like to loose." her voice is strained._

_ "Will he?" _

_ "Against your brother? It is likely." she disentangles his hand from his and pops another olive into her mouth. Without a word, she stands and moves to the head of the table, crouching at her mother's feet. The conversation that follows is too quick for Loki to follow. While her Norse is awkward, she sings Greek like a day of new grass and snow melt springs. The lightness of her feet is reflected in her tongue. Eventually, Athena shrugs and dismisses her daughter. _

_ "I do not know," she says, sliding back onto the bench. "which side you should pray for to win." Her nails leave white scrapes on her thighs as she clenches her fist._

_ The fight goes on, dwindling. Volstagg and Hogun yield with smiling faces, then Fandral, and finally Lady Sif a little less willingly. There are only Ares and Thor, spinning, lunging, throwing, each comprised of an individual earthquake forced together. It goes on and on. All eyes turn in their direction. Nike doesn't eat, doesn't blink, hardly seems to breath for fear. _

_ "Nike," Athena calls. Her daughter looks over in time to see her nod. _

_ Relieved, she leaps up onto the bench. "As this is my area of knowledge," she yells. "I declare a draw. Both are victors." Her voice is steady, bright, all anxiety exhibited through her shaking hands. _

_ Good-natured laughter rolls around the hall as she sits. Grinning, Thor holds out a hand to Ares. _

_ "Well matched, cousin!" _

_ "Yes, well matched." Ares gives a cold smile, all teeth, and shakes his hand rather harder than necessary. Nike holds his gaze as he glares her way, her eyes colder than the Adriatic. _


	4. Chapter 4

"You spoke to Loki," Natasha says. Nicky seems to be having a difficult time concentrating on her words instead of her face.

"Yes."

"Did he say anything?"

She shrugs. "He made me an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"The kind where he offers what he knows I want."

"Which is...?"

The ambrosia induced light dims a little: "None of your business."

Heedless of the others around, Thor puts a hand on her shoulder and draws her a little closer. She shakes him off, pressing a hand to her eyes.

"Forgive me. What I meant was it doesn't matter. What matters is protecting Earth."

_She walks proudly, despite the bloodstained tunic. Her swords look like they weigh nothing in her hands. Gore spatters her face like a mask. _

_ "Allfather," she kneels before the throne. "My…apo- apol-" her Norse is shattered, as if she cannot quite switch her mind. "I have no…to go." It is only her second visit to Asgard, shortly after the engagement feast, but decades seem to lay their struggles on her shoulders._

_ Odin simply inclines his head towards the girl, eyes on his sons. Thor takes the lead. _

_ "Come, cousin." he lifts her up by her armpits. "You look like you could use a very strong drink." _

_ "She says she is sorry," Loki translates, "but with the state of Olympus, she could not return home in her current condition." _

_ Odin inclines his head, considering the girl's pride. "We are glad to have you, Nike." _

_ The swords vanish from her hands and she slumps a little. "Thank you…I- I-" _

_ "She appreciates it," Loki offers, taking her arm. "By your leave, Father." _

_ The brothers help Nike from the throne room. "Are you hurt?" Loki asks; a crease has settled itself on his forehead. _

_ "Not my blood. Some Spartan's, I think. Or a Trojan soldier? I don't remember." A stone catches her foot, and her legs give way; Thor scoops her up as if she weighs nothing. _

_ "It is bad," he asks, "this war?" _

_ "It is a schism in my world, and I in the middle, falling, all hands grasping at my hair as I do so. I am Atlas." _

_ They carry her to the family quarters and set her on a couch in Loki's antechamber. Instantly she misses the safety of being held, of feeling like someone was protecting her. A cloth is placed in her hand. _

_ "The golden apple?" Loki asks. "It is that which began it?"_

_ "Yes, foolish Paris," she spits out his name, wiping the blood from her cheeks. "He thought to steal Menelaus' wife, to violate the bread and salt." _

_ "So why are the Greeks not clear victors?" _

_ "Because the Trojans have valiant warriors, and Helene went willingly. Even so," she hands the cloth to Loki, gesturing that he should get what she missed, "it is not so simple as politics. My family is not known for their unbiased consideration of issues. Everyone must take a side." _

_ Thor chuckles. "They are so concerned with Midgardian follies?" _

_ "No they…they desire sacrifices. War means hecatombs, virgins even." _

_ Loki's eyes widen. "Virgins?" _

_ "A princess, a priestess of Artemis, has already been sacrificed unwillingly in her name." She says all this in a dull monotone, trying to forget. The two brothers share aghast looks at the words; it is a strange society that demands humans to be killed for them. _

_ "You fight in the war?" _

_ "No. I was bestowing honors when a man saw me and thought me to be a prize." Nike laughs bitterly. "Neither side gains my favor with that exercise." _

_ "Then what-" a look from Thor cuts Loki off. A mottled collection of bruises cover Nike's shoulders and neck, fists and hands, like a rag doll thrown about. Five perfect circles deck her throat, spread unmistakably like a hand. _

_ "Ah, yes." another harsh laugh. "Whereas Mother and Aphrodite attempt to talk or bribe me to their sides, Father believes force to be more likely." Despite her tone, red-hued shame flushes into her cheeks. A long moment of silence follows. Loki skitters up. _

_ "I'm going to go find something for you to eat." _

_ Head cocked, Nike watches him leave the room. "Does he not like me?" _

_ Thor laughs heartily. "I think, cousin, he likes you too much. He doesn't know what to do." _

_A light smile softens her face, takes away the war and turns her into a dreaming girl. "I'll have to fix that, won't I?" _


	5. Chapter 5

"What did he offer you?" Thor asks when they are alone. The others have wandered off to check on the status of this or that. She sits on the edge of the table, legs swinging, looking up at him.

"Power." she holds a hand up and he takes it, intertwining his fingers with hers as they speak. "Well, not power so much as -"

"Attention."

"Sacrifices. Glory." she shrugs. "It's not wrong to want a little recognition is it? I feel…abandoned."

Thor sighs. "I'm afraid I have not helped with that."

She almost smiles. "Look at you, all grown up and responsible. And no, it's not just that. It's everything, it's my existence. Why pray to Nike when you could pray to Ares or Athena. They're not even my real parents and they get to take credit for everything."

"'A daughter in the eyes of the Greeks is naught but her father's name,'" Thor intones. "Loki told me that once."

She frowns. "I could be my own if you would marry me."

"I was worried if I did, we would be in this situation." He rubs a hand down her arm, feeling so large next to her frame. Her skin quakes with tears underneath his hand.

"Do you think, if he sees me cry will he repent?" she asks shakily, hardly holding the tears back. Her hand grips his so hard it hurts.

Thor laughs uncertainly. "You are not allowed to cry, cuz. I have never seen it happen; I will not allow it! You must say something crass, and then smile. Perhaps pick a fight."

"I'm exhausted, Thor." she leans her forehead against him, weary. "I have fought all the battles. I don't want to fight this one."

_ Loki stares at the creamy page, black runes looking up at him. He can feel the presence of the girl sprawled on his couch in the next room. He pictures her, tanned arm thrown over her face, the inside veins of her wrist pulsing gold instead of blue. Somehow, he knows the calluses on the heels of her feet from running around, on the web between her thumb and forefinger from swords. Those make her strong. Then there are the bruises, savage things ringing her neck, spreading across her clavicle, those are what give her a frailty, yet a fierceness as well. She is older, he thinks, than anyone gives her credit for. _

_ "Loki." _

_ He jumps, looking up. Nike is looking through his doorway, the linen of her tunic rumpled, pulling it farther above her knees. _

_ "Can I come in?" her voice is a whisper, echoing through the high-ceilinged room. _

_ "Uh, of course." _

_ The balls of her feet stick slightly to the floor as she crosses to the bed. There's grace to the bones of her shoulders and curve of her back as she climbs on next to Loki. She settles, crossing her ankles, back against the headboard in a pose almost identical to his. _

_ "I would apologize for my poor manners," she says, "but despite what my family would have you believe, there is very little order on Olympus. _Savage Civilization,_ I call it." _

_ He considers her, almost amused, trying to think of her as just any other person. "I suppose I should become used to it." _

_ She grins, nudging him with her shoulder. "That's the idea. Now, if you cannot sleep, will you teach me?" _

_ He looks at the book folded shut in his hands. "The book?" _

_ "I only speak Norse. I do not read it." _

_ "You speak Norse?" he acts shocked. "You could have fooled me!" _

_ She gasps, sitting up to face him. "Tell me, Prince Loki, do you think it's right to insult a women who could have swords in her hands at any moment?" _

_ "No more right than entering a strange man's rooms at night." _

_ "Oh, now that's my honor about which you jest!" she leans forward, mischief in her eyes. "If only I had someone, say a betrothed, to defend it - oh, wait!" _

_ The nearness of her face makes him uncomfortable once more. She is like the bold kitchen maids that Thor pushes on him, but less crass, as if everything is a game. He wonders, vaguely, staring at the monochrome of her hair, skin, and eyes if her mouth tastes as honeyed as the rest of her looks. After a moment, she leans in, and kisses him. Not knowing what to do, he kisses her back. Her lips are chapped with the war. There is something strangely practiced about the way she kisses, as if it still more an idea than anything. He is glad to see, when she pulls back, how furiously she's flushing. _

_ "But of course," Nike mumbles, "you can see I don't have much honor." _

_ Loki shrugs, trying to defuse their awkwardness, and gestures with the book."Honor never taught anyone to read." _


	6. Chapter 6

_They visit Olympus for the first time for Nike's birthday. The Scanian War is dividing Asgard's people, and the Parthenon holds arms, but yet they celebrated. The sky is high and blue, arching above the infinite mountain slope. White-columned buildings dot the grey stone: large square dining halls and round amphitheaters. Living pavilions are present too, smaller. Everything is open to the sky. Festivities hang in the air. Groups of young women chase one another up and down ever appearing paths, music echoes from somewhere. Ares greets the brothers at the base of the mountains. _

_ "You've thrown a bad lot today!" he laughs with no mirth. "Zeus wants to see you. Nike is his darling." he spits in the dirt and turns to lead the way. The brothers do not speak, just exchange glances and begin to climb. _

_ "Don't know where the stupid brat is," Ares says, about half-way up. "Never could control her." _

_ As if on cue, a round of maidens came hurtling down the mountain side, screaming and laughing. Nike is in the lead, her chiton fallen off one shoulder, leaving a breast bared to the sun. She shrieks as they run near the brothers. _

_ "Cousins! Come join us!" _

_ Suddenly, they're mobbed by women. It's a swirl of white linen and tanned limbs. Laughter fills the air. As the chaos dies away, the brothers are left with flower crowns in their hair and Nike between them, a slim arm wrapped around each of their waists. Thor's manic grin matches her own._

_ "Well met, cuz." _

_ "And you both." she leans up to kiss his cheek, then that of Loki, who's looking slightly unsure of a place where half-naked girls fly around - he has done his best to forget their brief kiss for the impropriety."Welcome to my realm. As you can see, it's far superior to yours!" _

_ "Nike!" Athena scolds; she appeared sometime during the dance. "And pin up your chiton." _

_ But the girl's mind has already moved off. She stares across the mountain at a shape bounding towards them. _

_ "Does everyone always move so quickly here?" Loki remarks dryly to Thor, then, just as quickly, jumps back in alarm._

_ "Cerberus!" Nike drops to the ground and begins petting the three-headed dog enthusiastically. "How are you boy? Yes! Yes!" The dog's head bob enthusiastically, each trying to lick her face. It's no larger than an average dog, truly, no different looking in color (black) or tail. The only difference is the broad shoulders supporting three necks. Nike glances up at Loki, face glowing with exertion "Come here, he will not bite." Her smile falters a bit as Loki hesitates, but Athena yanks her off the ground and begins fixing her chiton. _

_ "Please behave, Nike. Take them to Zeus. Your father and I have matters of war to attend to." The winged pin secures her chiton at the shoulder, and with some spell from Athena, the hem falls down to Nike's feet. _

_ Nike's face hardens and she jerks from her mother's grasp. "Of course. Come, you two." Gathering her skirt in her hand, she leads them, each step seeming to weigh on her. Cerberus stays by her side, panting. _

_ "He guards the world of the dead, doesn't he?" Loki asks. His curiosity relights Nike's good humor. _

_ "Yes! But not today. Hades has come for my birthday, and for council with the others. He brings Cerberus with him." She turns to look at them without slowing her pace. There's a slight skip in her step now. "You will like him Loki; he is much the scholar. And you, Thor, you must meet my uncle Hephaestus; he makes finer weapons than you could ever believe. He made my swords, and Zeus' lightning bolts." she adds the latter like an after thought. _

_"I've heard much of Athena's library-" Loki begins. Nike claps her hands with glee. _

_ "Of course! I will take you there after your audience." She reaches out for Loki's hand. The look on her face is filled with such intimate hope that Thor looks away. "You must love it here as I do." _

_ It is only minutes later that Zeus announces a new agreement between Asgard and Olympus and Nike, having every last shred of autonomy torn away, flees down the mountain. _

The humans are bickering in the lab when the doors snick open to admit Nike.

"Does none of this smell odd to you?" Banner demands. Steve shakes his head.

"Find the cube. That's your job. You do yours and I'll do mine."

Nike smiles wryly. They are not looking at her enough to see the years that live in her eyes. When she speaks and they turn, they see only a girl.

"You have been asleep too long soldier. Unquestioning faith lost you a war."

"With all due respect ma'am, it hasn't lost me a war yet."

"Victory comes at a cost, soldier," she replies sternly. "Sometimes the fee you pay is finding yourself on the wrong side."

"So you think we should let Loki take over? Let the world fall?"

Her eyes flash. "Watch your tone with me boy." Eons resonate around the room. "I have been protecting this world since before your ancestors dreamed of clawing at the soil or naming the stars."

Banner freezes, watching. Nike is small, up to Rogers' chin, but even as the Hulk he would not cross her in that moment. Rogers however, does not lack in conviction.

"Maybe I just don't appreciate being ordered around by some teenage girl in a costume who calls herself a god."

The smack is fast and sharp. Steve's face snaps to the side, shock twisting his features. Nike stands in the midst of a hurricane of emotions, hand still hovering slightly in the air.

"Nike." Thor's voice is low, dangerous. He stands in the doorway, menacing. "Calm down."

The anger around her grows, expanding, taking on speed. "Do you mean to threaten me as if you are my father? Will you hit me Thor, for my disobedience? Allow me to remind you that I am not yours yet; you have seen to that."

"Nike," he's never seen her so agitated. Perhaps by saying her name he can draw her back into herself. "Nike, this isn't the moment."

"No, it never is with you, is it?" she sweeps by him and into the corridor.

In his cell, Loki smiles to himself.

_The clearing is calm, peaceful. Grass is soft underfoot, trees sway their leaves in the breeze. Thor looks at them, thinking how orange has never brushed their limbs, not winter shed them bare. The clearing ends on one side at the foot of a grey cliff, a small pool at its base littered with cattails and white, star-shaped flowers. Nike lies on her stomach, fingers trailing in the pool. _

_ "When Narcissus did this," she says, sensing the presence behind her. "He forgot to eat, and turned into these flowers. It's a fate I must say I prefer at this moment." _

_ Thor settles on the grass with a grunt. "You find me so repulsive?" _

_ "I find the idea that I am sold to the winner repulsive." She sits up and looks at him, nearly piercing him through. "You men do not understand; you do not know what it is like to be nothing more than your father's name, or your husbands. I am not a prize, nor some sacrifice to appease Asgard, so why must they treat me like one?" _

_ "You will be a queen," he offers. "As for Loki and myself, our fates are uncertain as yours. We do not know who will be king, who will have your hand." _

_ "Oh yes," she scoffs, "destained for power whether as king or advisor, what a burden you must carry. I am forced to wear my skirts long and sheath my swords. To keep my mouth shut to avoid my father's hits. And now I am not only the pawn of the Olympians, but of the Asgardians as well? 'We want Nike,' they say. 'Make her fall in love with our sons, for hope she'll save our kingdom if need be?' Do not dare - Thor Odinson - to acknowledge my strength only when it serves you. I am power in myself, and I will not be the veiled wife they want me to be." _

_ He stays silent for a moment, almost in shock, then lets loose a peele of booming laughter. "Perhaps the new arrangement is for the best; I am not sure Loki would know what to do with you if you managed to succeed in getting him in bed."_

_ She raises an eyebrow cooly. "And you would?" _

_ He laughs again, not at her, but at her open boldness; he has been around long enough to know when it is faked. "Come, let us return. You promised I would see the forge." Grudgingly, she takes his arm, and they head back to the mountain. _


	7. Chapter 7

"What was that about?" Romanov asks.

Thor shakes his head. "It is nothing. She is just tired, I am sure. Spending so much time away from Olympus wears on her, and she is known for her mood swings as it is."

Romanov glances up from a screen, slightly concerned. "She's talking to Loki again."

"She is?" the tablet trembles in his large grip as he snatches it away. On the screen, Nike leans against the glass, hardly silhouetted by light. Her shoulders shake with laughter as Loki gesticulates with a book, face animated. Thor swears violently.

"She's always had a soft-spot for him, and he knows it now."

"He's a murderer."

He gives Romanov a sideways look. "So is most of her family. The Olympians are not like us; They rid the world of such monsters that they live on today in legend, they bred empires. They have always had a reputation for capriciousness."

"Yeah, I've read _The Iliad," _Romanov takes back the tablet; Thor follows the image with his eyes, heart sinking at the sight of Nike's laughter. "Will she still fight with us?"

"Perhaps if Rogers apologizes," he considers, "or if I do."

"Yeah? What happened between you two anyway?"

Thor lets out a long sigh, and looks out over the bridge to the clouds. They lay flat like ice-bear fur, tufting here or there with bits of rain. "She was promised to Loki, as part of a treaty to solidify relations. He was…shyer then, and did not respond to her no matter how hard she tried."

"I thought she said she was marrying you."

"She did. The treaty changed; Zeus wanted her to be queen, but it wasn't clear at that moment which one of us would reign, so she and I-" he trails off. Romanov nods.

"And Loki got upset at you taking her. And with you because of Foster."

Thor laughs half-heartedly. "Nike is not predisposed to jealously."

Romanov shrugs. "This is why I never work with anyone I'm involved with."

_The banquet is separated by the sexes: men at one long table, women at another. Thor looks at Nike over his goblet, and through the jumble of servants and dancing nymphs. She is seated between two women, each equally beautiful. One he knows to be Aphrodite, all silky curls and well-oiled linen, who eyes Ares from time to time. The other is savage as Aphrodite is polished, wild eyes and hair falling to her waist, unbound. She is Aphrodite's foil, Artemis. Each speak to Nike with equal affection, but while Aphrodite laughs, Artemis frowns. He cannot hear the conversation, but it proceeds somewhat like this:_

_ "Do not encourage her!" _

_ "Artemis, let her live! She is not one of your huntresses, she will be married soon, and no longer a maid. Besides, the strength of this alliance may depend on her skills in bed." Aphrodite brushes back a bit of Nike's hair. "You do not learn how to please a man by scrambling around with wood nymphs." _

_ "There's nothing wrong with wood nymphs," Nike replies, stung. _

_ Artemis nods. "If you don't like men, you shouldn't have to marry one." _

_ "I don't _not _like men, I just like girls too. They're fun." _

_ "So are men," Aphrodite's gaze flicks across the pavilion to Ares, causing Nike's nose to wrinkle. _

_ "I am not discussing this anymore," she says, staring at the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. _

_ "You're not going to win him by eating like a savage," Aphrodite scolds her niece, who bites into an gold-flecked apple, juiced running down her chin. _

_ "It's not him I'm trying to win." Down the table, Daphne laughs and Echo flushes furiously._

_ Thor watches this who exchange curiously, trying to decipher the looks between the three younger women. _

_ "That's Echo," the man next to him offers. He's slender and golden, like someone built for running. "And Daphne." On the speaking of the latter name, his voice is wistful. "You may as not give up now; she's very hard to catch." _

_ "And the other?" _

_ "Echo? She is far too enamored with Nike to notice any man. It is as easy to catch her as it would be to snag the eye of my sister." _

_ "Sister?" _

_ "Artemis," the man gestures to the woman on Nike's right. "The virgin huntress." _

_ "Unless of course you count Orion," another man chimes in, this one younger, slightly more sullen. "Of course you had to ruin that, didn't you Apollo?" _

_ Apollo rolls his eyes. "It was for the best, Eros. Her station is cemented, as is her reputation." _

_ "You act as if virginity cannot be renewed," the other shoots back, leaning back on the bench to better see around Thor. The two gods bicker back and forth, Thor watching in amusement. The essence of this place feels different somehow than Asgard, though he couldn't tell you why. It is as if they have thrown away the charade the Asgardians have of pretending to be human, and instead exist immersed in their own immortality. Down the table, Loki is looking just as bemused. _

_ He is, however, forced to remember humanity as something hard and damp bounces off his cheek and clinks onto his plate: an olive pit. _

_ "Nike you absolute beast!" Aphrodite exclaims. Nike's head is swept back in laughter, her eyes twinkling at Thor. _

_ "That is quite the spurn," he calls, laughing. "I shall not take that lightly, cuz!" _

_ "Are you going to fight victory herself?" she jeers. "I see now why Loki is always by your side: he is nothing if not your brain!" _

_"Now I must fight not only for my honor, but for that of my brother as well!" _

_ "No matter with what will you fight, remember even Patroclus was shot down for love!" She's standing on the bench, hands on her hips, glee etched onto her face. In some ways, there is very little difference between the girl they first met, and this woman. _

_ "Nike!" Ares booms. Very little difference. "Sit!" _

_ The color is gone from her face. Artemis takes her hand as she sits down, and Aphrodite lays a hand on her shoulder. Apollo casts a glance at Thor's shocked face and nods. _

_ "He doesn't even try to be subtle anymore." _

_ "Why does he do that?" _

_ "He resents her power. She can end war, which gives her such leeway over him. But, since Zeus gave her to him and Athena, he exercises control over her." _

_ "_Gave _her?"_

_ Apollo raises his eyebrows. "Of course, did you not know? They are not married, cannot stand each other. Nike is their only tie, that and war. She was given to them as their ward by Zeus following the Titan war. Her mother is Styx, the titan, but she fought favorably, so her children were spared." _

_ "Huh," Thor grunts and takes back up his goblet, unable to take his eyes from Nike's crestfallen face. _

"Thor." Nike is standing in the doorway of the bridge. "I am leaving."

"You're fighting for him."

She shakes her head. "I am no fool. But I cannot come between you again."

"Nike."

"I have no ties to you, Thor. You've made that choice, not me."

"You are still mine!" he exclaims. "My betrothed. We have ties!"

"_I _am NO ONES!" she shouts, her voice cracking. "Loki may be a liar, but he has made sure I know that! No one has wanted me, you included!"

"Nike."

But she is gone, vanished as her kind is wont to do.


	8. Chapter 8

_"Can I come in?" _

_Nike is lying on her bed. "Sounds scandalous," she intones, not setting down her scroll. _

_ "You owe me a fight." he leans casually on one of the columns, glancing around. There is the bed, large and circular, and an olive desk and washing stand. Her bare feet facing towards him are yellowed with calluses. _

_ "Not now, I'm busy," she waves a hand. "And not at all in the mood." _

_ "What are the mortals doing now?" he uses the Olympians' word: _mortals._ The degradation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. _

_ "Using Mother's temple as an arsenal against the Ottomans." _

_ "Surely there are better things to be doing than reading war reports." _

_ She glances up - barely. "It's my job." _

_ "Says who?" _

_ "I was born into it." _

_ He saunters in. "Seems like a burden." _

_ "So does that silly hammer. Aphrodite says you're over-compensating and I'm inclined to believe her." _

_ Not stopping the pouring of a goblet of wine, he gives a barking laugh. "Did she tell you to test her hypothesis?" _

_ "She told me to help our people by reading this report." _

_ "Really?" he settles in the chair, staring at her. There is a crease between her brown in concentration. _

_ "No, but they will be upset if I do not." _

_ "I'm sure you can take a break." _

_ "Leave." _

_ Standing, he smiles. "I will not give up." _

_ "I'm sure you will not." _

The aunts and attendants sit around in Aphrodite's pavilion, consoling Nike.

"I've told you a hundred time, Nike," Aphrodite says, stroking her nieces hair. "Men are good for nothing but sex and heartbreak."

"You should kill the mortal woman," Artemis suggests. "It's been an age since we've had a hunt."

"And have him hate me even more?" Nike sniffs. "No, it will not do. I must remove myself entirely. My father was right, it did me ill to be so bold."

Echo slaps her, hard. Everyone gasps. Nike holds her cheek, tears threatening to spill over her eyes. "They day you give into your father is the day Olympus falls, isn't that what you always said?" the normally subdued girl's eyes are fierce with love. "If you allow a mere man to break your will then you deserve this heartache. The Nike I know does not let anyone control her, does not need anyone."

"But maybe I do," she whispers. "I needed him."

_"You _do not _need _anyone," Artemis says firmly. "You have never needed anyone, much less a man."

But her expression does not lighten; instead her head droops down. There is no light in her, no fight - it has been funneled away by never-ending war, this time between two she cares about.

"Nike!" Athena's yell makes everyone start. She's standing on the steps of the pavilion, scroll in hand. "What is this about that Asgardian prince? And the _CHITAURI_?"

"It is nothing, mother."

"And you _left?!"_

"There was nothing I could do, Mother!" Nike exclaims, fingers clenching around invisible sword handles. "I owed those heroes nothing!"

"Foolish girl!" Athena cries, springing forward to grab her shoulders. "You left our city to fall? You may not owe heroes but you certainly owe our people! And you left, over a _man?_ You left our people to suffer? Have you learned nothing? Have we taught you so little? Olympus fights for her people no matter the cost! They do not stand a chance without us, we must all take up arms! And you, Nike, how did you expect the outcome to be swift lacking your aid?" she glances around at the gathered women. "Go, all of you! Gather the men and prepare for battle! There isn't time to spare!"

She is their general; when she says run, they run, scrambling off in all directions. Nike stays frozen where she is, staring at her mother. "I do not wish to fight anymore," she pleads. "Let me be."

"It is your job, daughter, as we all have our jobs," Athena says calmly. "We must do it whether we will or no."

_Somehow, through the haze of wine, he feels her mouth on his, all honeyed from wine and intoxicating ambrosia. She does not kiss softly, does not shy away from his hands, but rather leans into him, all bare skin and unhurried thoughts. _

_ "Nike." _

_ "Hm?" she is lost in the feeling of his mouth whispering against her sternum. _

_ "I will protect you." _

_ The look in his blue eyes is so sincere, her heart sighs. Pulling him up, she kisses him again, falling into the feeling of his hands on her waist. _


	9. Chapter 9

_"Nike! Wake up!" _

_ "Hm?" Nike sits up, pushing hair back from her face. Early morning light falls through the pillars of her pavilion, grey as the eyes currently staring at her. _

_ "War has broken. Ugh," Athena makes a disgusted face at the bed. "Don't tell your father. None the matter. You need to be ready." She departs as quickly as she came, leaving her daughter to scoff and poke the lump in the bed. _

_ "Thor. Wake up." _

_ He groans, rolling over. "Odin's -" he winces in the too-bright light. "how much did I drink last night?" _

_ "I have to go. The Ottomans have fired." _

_ He smiles. "Who are your heroes?" _

_ "I haven't chosen yet. It's hard now. It used to be men of renown fighting for glory, but now it's the poor who have no name, no way out, fighting en mass to support their family."_

_ "But you know the victor?" _

_ "Obviously." _

_ A rough laugh escapes him. "Are you sure you're the same one who came seeking my brother's council during Troy?" _

_ She doesn't smile at the memory: it contains only family strife and Loki's scorn. _

_ But she is stronger now: taller, athletic, beautiful even._

_ "Hm." She leaves the bed and fills two cups with water, and brings a platter of grapes that someone had left on the table in the corner. "So," she settles on the bed, looking down at him. "How will you entertain yourself in my absence?" A grape bursts between her teeth: dry and sweet. _

_ "Perhaps that lovely nymph I saw you grappling with ." _

_ "Hm…Echo? She's much to devoted to me to come near you. Phoebe, on the other hand, such a lovely mouth." Nike gives a suggestive wink that Thor does not entirely need. The sight of the two girls wrestling, stark naked, is not an unpleasant one in his memory. "I can see you thinking about it." _

_ He takes a grape. "How could I not?" _

_ "You were spying; you shouldn't even have that thought to think! You know what my aunt does with men who spy?" she teases. _

_ "This?" _

_ The water and grapes clatter to the floor as Thor reaches up and grabs her, his hands large and rough around her torso. She gives into those hands. _

_ The sun has risen in its entirety when Nike finally gathers her clothes and laces her sandals. Olympus rises in grey crags outside the white marble pillars. To the left is a forest, green and sparkling, and beyond that the meadows, stretching impossibly flat by the mountain's angle. Nike stares at the trees, a hand resting on a column._

_ "Perhaps it is best that Loki doesn't find out about this." _

_ "You are not promised to him alone, anymore; there is no need to feel guilty." _

_ "I don't feel guilty," she snaps; her voice softens instantly. "I just…he wouldn't understand." _

_ "Huh," Thor grunts, propping himself up in bed. "He doesn't care for you, Nike. It's of no matter." he laughs at the slight slumping of her shoulders. "Why do you care?" _

_ "I just don't like it when people don't like me." She stars out down the mountain, thinking of when she use to run down its slope, practically flying to reach the mortal world. She's lost entirely in thought when a pair of large arms wraps around her from behind, a beard tickles her neck. _

_ "Loki has always been a fool," he growls. "Come back to bed." _

_ A yell echoes down the mountain, causing her to jump. "I must go!" _

_ Thor is left standing with empty arms and nothing but a lingering headache with which to face the sun. _

"LOKI!" Thor bellows, charging into the cell-room. "What did you say to her?!"

The door of the cell has fallen open, and Loki stands on the threshold, grinning. "Simply what you were saying with fewer words, brother: that no one has ever cared about her."

"ARRR-" with a war cry worth of Odin, Thor rushes his brother, his hammer raised. It is when he falls that he realizes his folly. Loki relishes the look on his face as he steps out of the shadows by the console.

"Always so gullible, Thor. You think you would have learned something by now." He considers the control panel. "Shall we test Fury's hypothesis?"

"Loki, no!" the door slams shut, and Thor bangs a hand on this. "Brother, you do not have to do this!"

"You're right; I don't. But with Nike gone -" the hole opens beneath the cage, air swirling up "- I would like to secure my victory."

What follows is a feeling of falling that Thor is not at all used to.


	10. Chapter 10

Nike stars at her reflection. She is not beautiful, not as a Greek should be. Her skin is not pale, her hair neither light nor dark, and surely not long. Her face is thin, sharp even, something not helped by the blunt cut of her hair. It is no doubt Thor does not love her; Jane is beautiful, tiny, hair like polished wood and eyes like a doe. Jane is Helen of Troy, and Nike is naught but Penelope, second choice of Odysseus, cursed forever to wait.

"Vanity does not become you my dear," Aphrodite says, catching sight of her niece in the looking glass. "And neither does comparing yourself to that mortal."

"You do not have to fight."

"Love's place is not in the midst of war. I will help, you know this. We have done this before Nike, there is nothing new about battle; it is all humanity knows how to do. Our job is to ensure it ends as swiftly as possible." She pets Nike's hair and kisses her forehead. "Now go; you are needed."

The gods gather at the highest pavilion. They stand, straight backed and tense, chatting softly; it is uncouth to acknowledge that there is no gaiety. The murmur halts as Nike enters.

"This is your command," Athena says firmly. "They await your orders."

Nike feels her pulse thrum faster. "What?"

Athena gestures at the waiting gods. "You know the situation. Come, there isn't time to spare."

Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm herself. The air smells as it always does, freshly pressed olives and pomegranates. _Shoulders back,_ she thinks, _eyes sharp. There is no Thor._

"The situation is dire," she says, loudly, "but not impossible." She stands like a general, straight and confident; no one doubts her ability to lead. "Hestia, Eros, Aphrodite, Prometheus, and Hera, I will need you and anyone else who will not fight helping the mortals; this is their largest city, and we need them safe. Everyone else, the strategy is simple: full force. If someone looks like human, spare them, if they do not, they die. Hephaestus, I need you on the ground restocking arrows and making sure weapons are in shape." she halts before Zeus, surprised to see him.

"Well?" He booms (there is nothing quiet about Zeus). "What are my orders?"

To order her king and grandfather? A man whose face she can rarely bring herself to look at? But she does, taking in his untamed beard and fierce gaze. "Work with Thor, not against him. Together you will provide us help, but if you fight one another, the storm could turn against us. Calliope!"

The muse, uncertain of her role, steps forward from the sidelines. "Ma'am?"

Nike's blood thrums to be addressed as a leader. "Find a poet, preferably schooled in our tongue. Ensure they know the battles happenings. I promised these heroes glory, and glory they shall have."

* * *

New York is chaos. Thor stares around, not knowing whether to help Midgardians or fight. In the end he fights; it is all he can do, the army pouring from the portal. He can see the others as well, Banner, Rogers using his shield as a discus, Romanov has a gun in each hand. They are not enough, there is seemingly no end. He is reminded of the story Nike told him, of the Battle of Thermopylae. He says something of the like to Rogers who nods.

"We are the three hundred!" he shouts over the din. Uncharacteristically, he swears as three soldiers fly at him; Mjolnir hits one squarely in the chest. The battle resumes. It is overwhelming, all he can do to ensure he is not backed into a corner. They all stand back to back for the most part, protecting each other. No one wants to admit that there is no optimism.

"Thor," Romanov calls. "What is that?" Uncertainty shakes her voice. Another portal has opened in the sky, this one hardly visible, just a clearer shade of blue. They pour out, like ants at first, then larger as they draw closer. Some clash with the Chitauri in the sky, others fall to the ground and begin fighting. They glow with ambrosia.

"Olympians," he yells. "They have come to our aid!"

"Mother of-" Steve begins. "I'm not used to this world!"

Even Thor is awed. There is Apollo, lithe and golden, drawing back his bow, and his sister, Artemis; there is Poseidon, trident in hand; and Dionysus, draped in leopard fur. It seems no Olympian has stayed behind, with even Hermes fluttering above the malay in his winged sandals, taunting and distracting. Thor searches for Nike. Romanov sees her first.

"There."

She stands in a chariot of gold drawn by winged horses, snapping the reins as she leans over the side, bestowing laurels. Wind rushes as the wheels skim inches over his head. Where the fighting is thickest she leaps from the chariot, swords in hand and falls through the air. He looses sight of her then; she is too close to see through the bodies. He hears her voice, her grunts, the slick sound of her swords. She yells orders in Greek to archaic for him to entirely understand.

"…Apollo…my right."

"Prometheus, get the…"

"For fuck's sake!"

He allows battle to consume him, raging wholly in his veins.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lycurgus, Odysseus' left flank!" It is not the battle that matters; battles are instinctual. The leading is the matter, she must observe without ceasing to fight. This is no united Spartan front, but rather a crazed mass of one-on-one combat. Every Olympian has turned out, excepting the nature spirits. Even Zeus, swirling masses of cloud overhead. A flash of red enters her vision, a arm, hammer reached to the sky.

"Thor!" she screams, ignoring the twinge in her heart. "Work _with _him! Do not fight him!" He gives no sign of hearing, but the sky begins to dance with itself, reaching a boiling point of unforeseen grace, oil paint whipped into peaks by master artists. Nike revels in the rain.

* * *

The battle is unimportant; it is the same as every battle. There are victors, there are casualties and civilians hurt in the fray. The Olympians, exhausted as the Avengers, drop their swords, let their bows fall to their sides as their shoulders slump. Some, such as Lycurgus and Eris, depart at once for home, but most stay behind, casting aside their tiredness to search through rubble; they will do a more thorough job than mortals will ever be able to accomplish. Nike directs this as well, patiently, more softly than before. Thor watches her slim frame, her hands gesturing this way and that as she speaks to the crowd before her, delegating tasks. But she herself is no healer, and has her own job to do.

Her gait is not weighed down by the battle, it contains the same slight skip as if she is fighting her wings to stay on the ground. She watches with interest as Banner helps Stark up, each spattered with dirt and gore.

"That was unprecedentedly brave," she says, causing them all to jump. "You will be forever remembered for that, Stark." The man watches her with wide, tired eyes as she steps forward. No crown of laurels appears in her hands, the age for such gestures is long gone, rather she kisses his forehead. "I name thee, Triumph of Mortals, Victor of Nike, Hero of Olympus." She moves onto Banner and Barton and Romanov. Each takes the blessing with a solemn nod. Finally she stands before Rogers. He stares at her almost angrily, still holding a hint of righteous resolve, but after a moment, he acquiesces. Nike smiles benevolently.

"I name thee, Triumph of Mortals, Victor of Nike, Hero of Olympus."

Thor looks at her, eyes soft. "Nike, you returned. Thank you. I did not mean-"

She cuts him off with a kiss to his forehead. If he were to reach out at this moment, he would feel her heart thrumming, her skin shimmering with heartbreak. "I name thee, Triumph of Asgard, Victor of Nike, Hero of Olympus."

"We are going to eat," he tries again. "Come with us."

"I have other matters to which to attend." Her voice hurts him. It does not carry the usual emotion, but rather is as unyielding as marble - not cruel, but not kind either, voice she learned from her mother.

On que, her parents appear. "Well done, daughter," Ares says, giving her a rough slap on the shoulder. Nike's knees quake under the force, though her face does not waver. Thor's does. Stepping forward, he grasps the straps of Ares' armor, lifting him from the ground.

"You Olympians," he grunts, "are fond of throwing these far distances, yes?" Thor would fare well in the Olympics.

Athena snorts, watching Ares fly down the block. "You have approximately eighteen seconds before he retaliates."

Grinning, Thor looks down at Nike, who stares back stony-faced with fear.

"Thor, that was foolish."

"Do not worry, Nike."

"You just threw the god of war like a discuss," she insists. "I know his temper."

"I think I can protect myself," he smiles at her like she's a child, and her temper flares.

"You, yes! Me, well, I am good, but against my father I hardly stand a chance!"

Athena watches this all, slight amusement leaked onto her face. She says something to Greek to Nike, who snorts. Twenty yards away, Ares stirs.

"What did she say," Thor demands.

"She said…combine the egotism with the hair and the cloak and you are nothing if not a Spartan devotee of Helen."

"I do not know what that means," he admits. In the periphery of their vision, Ares stands.

Aphrodite saunters up, Artemis at her side. Uncharacteristically, both have the same look on their face: undeniable smugness. "She says you are a pussy."

Nike shifts, oddly uncomfortable at Aphrodite's boldness.

"Well-" Mjolnir begins spinning into a blur. "-I'm sure Nike can ensure you that I am not." Ares goes flying again, and this time stays down. To Thor's disappointment, Nike's face shows no joy at his action.

The smugness drops from Artemis' face. "I have castrated men for less than that."

"Yes, I'd thank you not to talk about our niece in such a manner," Aphrodite said through narrowed eyes. "One would think that just after seeing the might of Olympus, the boy would be smarter."

"Most like he believes the men did all the fighting," Artemis suggests; they do not take their eyes off Thor. "The fool."

"I think you were right, Artemis. I do not think we've had a hunt in a while."

Thor holds his hands up. "I surrender; Forgive me, Nike."

"Thor!" Romanov calls. "We're going to get Loki."

He stares at Nike's turned form, her bare back, thin and tanned. Her chiton drapes just a little too low, letting her shoulder blades show. He's never touched her wings before, he can't see them, just feel their presence.

"Yes, of course." Dully, he turns towards Stark Tower.


	12. Chapter 12

_There's something soft on his neck, some_one_ above him. Eyes still closed, he waits. Hair brushes his cheek, and the softness moves upwards towards his jaw. It is far from an unpleasant way to be awakened, even at such a late hour of the night. _

_ "An intruder!" he cries suddenly, springing into action. Grabbing Nike, he rolls and pins her down, his hands locking her wrists to the bed. Shock flashes across her face for a moment, only to be replaced by a grin."What does one do with such an intruder? I cannot have you thrown in the dungeon, that's far too good for you." _

_ "But who says-" her legs wrap around his waist and suddenly she's back on top, straddling him; he can't say he minds. "-who says you've bested me? Perhaps there's still a fight to be had!" _

_ "Hm, I can imagine." he runs his hands under her chiton, around her legs and up her back. "What is such a terrible intruder doing here?" He lingers his gaze on her mouth, so far above him. She reads his mind." _

_ "I missed you," she says, scooting down so she's practically laying on top of him. Her lips are characteristically dry, but groan inducing nonetheless. _

_ Linen bunches in his hands. "I'm taking this off of you now," he mutters as her teeth graze his bottom lip. "You've lost your claim." _

_ "Glad I woke you now?" His rough hands have free range over her skin, but she directs them. There is nothing soft about either of them; they are calloused and work hardened. _

_ "Were your nymphs busy?" he teases, feeling her rock into his hand - that part of her is soft, at least. _

_ "Haven't - " she moans a little. "- seen them in a while." _

_ "Why not?" he asks, slowing his hand. _

_ "Mm." she kisses him a long while before answering, her breath a little ragged. "I have you. And I happen to like you more." _

_ "You lie. I know how you Greeks are," he jests. She doesn't hear; her hand is over her mouth, trying to muffle her cries as she comes._

"He's an ass," Artemis says.

At the same time, Aphrodite says, "You must win him back!"

"She should do nothing of the sort," Artemis argues.

"Winning him back is not the issue," Athena interjects. "She should be more concerned with being respectful and fixing their betrothal."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did I not just win you all a battle?" All eyes turn to Nike, who is standing with her eyebrows raised. "Your silence confirms my statement, Mother. I thought you had moved past the belief that I must be veiled."

"You are still my daughter, Nike," Athena sighs in protest. "I still wish the best for you."

She feels nothing if not betrayed. "So I lead the others for what, convenience?"

Athena's eyes flash. "I allowed you to lead them because I hoped it would teach you some responsibility. You are not the centre of the world, Nike, nor of anyone's world."

Red flies to her cheeks. There is more shame in that one statement than in a thousand of her father's blows. It is magnified by the presence of the Avengers, Loki in Thor's grasp. The latter gapes, but the former stands smirking - it is far too easy to destroy the life of one who is already so neglected.

"I am fairly certain," Nike says carefully. "That motherhood is supposed to work differently from that." With a sharp whistle, she calls her chariot, and - with an impossible leap - jumps in. The horses neigh at the crack of the reins, and fly off into the sky.

_She must be, he thinks, the exact opposite of Nike. Jane Foster, mortal. She does not groan to read scrolls, and he doubts she could even lift a sword. He imagines her standing on Olympus or in Asgard, looking around in awe; no one takes their immortality and wondrous realms more for granted than Nike - except perhaps Apollo. As human as she is, there is, lingering beneath her skin, the essence of one of Nike's nymphs: impossible delicate, downy limbs and uncalloused palms, yet the fiercest of personalities. This brings him to the conclusion that Nike would not mind even a little; she would do the same, he thinks. Besides, he has not seen her in ages, they've both been too busy. _


	13. Chapter 13

The door of the shawarma shop bangs open and Nike strides in.

"After careful contemplation," she announces to Thor, who's stopped mid-chew. "I cannot decide who I hate more, you or them." Everyone stares, but she ignores them.

"Them," he says swallowing. "I threw your father for you."

She shrugs, switching to Old Norse. "We will speak here then, if they cannot understand. I am hungry."

Thor gestures to his plate and replies in the like. "What's mine is yours, cuz." To everyone's surprise but his, she settles on his lap and picks up a fry. She wishes she did not enjoy so much the feeling of his arm around her waist.

"I have been foolish," she says. "Forgive me."

"You have not," he disagrees. "No more than usual," he adds with a grin. She does not smile in return. "Nike, you helped us, Loki was bested, it is over."

"I do not mean that." she takes a bite of the gyro he offers, and tzatziki runs down her chin. "I do not care about Jane Foster."

"You do not? It is of no matter, Nike," he offers. "She is a Midgardian."

She lies. Lies are easy sometimes, but other times they rip through the toughest armor and slash entrails like the sharpest spear. She is Patroclus, sacrificed to save her golden boy. "I absolve you." she kisses him on the forehead. "It is no matter."

"What do you want?" he asks, pulling her back. "What do you want, my Nike?"

She lays an arm around his shoulder, leaning back so they can better look at one another. "Freedom." It is a lie. Another one of those that twists the spear in her stomach. Freedom is nothing when his arm is tightly around her.

"Then freedom you have," he says, kissing her shoulder. "I will not be the man to hold you down." The truth hurts often times too. No Chitauri hit him like letting Nike go.

The expression on her face is a wistful one when next she looks at him. "I want a life without war," she says. "That is all I want."

He tweaks her nose, eliciting - in part, at least - the smile he wants to see. "Then take it. Whatever you want."

"Maybe they veil us to protect us," she murmurs, this time in Greek: it is easier to think in her own tongue. "Protect us from men, and from freedom. And pride." As she speaks, Thor reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Pride is truly the folly of Olympus."

"My Nike is not to be veiled," he assures her. His forehead rests heavily against her arm. "Let us talk of such things no more; I'm tired."

"Yes, I am as well." She disentangles, sliding off his lap. "I must go."

"Where?"

"To be free." The skip is out of her stride. After a moment's hesitation, she bends down by Roger's chair and whispers into his ear.

"Yes, you are," he replies. "But not-"

She is gone, flying out the door and down the street. Her nod to Loki goes unnoticed, but yet apprehension grows in Thor's stomach.

_to be free. _There is something vaguely ominous in those words, something that sends him lurching to his feet. His steps towards outside turn into a run when Loki yells, barely audible through his gag. Thor rips it roughly off his mouth.

"What is it?" He demands. His brother's eyes are filled with fear.

"We have to stop her Thor."

The brother's, somehow united once more, run together down the street. He doesn't question Loki, just follows him in a dead out sprint. Stark Tower rises before them, battle scarred and gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Loki, what is she doing?"

A small, black figure teeters at the top.

* * *

Nike feels the wind. It buffets back her hair and clings her chiton to her skin. She is iconic, light as air, the image carved into stone so long ago. Even her wings fly out behind her in the same manner as before. She keeps her balance remarkable well, considering the slickness of her leather sandals on the metal; it hardly matter though.

_I'm going to seek my freedom. _

* * *

"NIKE!" Thor yells, though he knows there is no conceivable way for his voice to reach so far. The figure sways a little more, then falls, tumbling through the air.

* * *

_I am Nike, and I am air. _She falls as she has thousands of times, only this time, wind swirling past her, there will be no updraft, no folded out wings.

* * *

Thor cannot move, cannot think.

"Loki, stop her!"

She is visible now, he can see the green of her chiton, the golden streaks in her hair. Green magic swirls around her, encasing her body, but she does not slow. He thinks, at the last moment, that she smiles at him.

_to be free. _

"Brother," Loki chokes. "I'm sorry, I tried."

Thor steps forward, dumbstruck. He never thought her fragile, but she lies like a rag-doll on the sidewalk, blood pooling around her. He can imagine the look on her face so clearly if he were to tell her that she was like the mortals.

"Why did I not save her?" he says dully, thinking of Mjolnir.

"Perhaps she did not want to be saved," Loki says, softly.

_I'm going to seek my freedom. _

She is so light as he scoops her up, like air. Her hair is matted with blood.

_I just touched that hair,_ he thinks. _How many times have I run my hands through it?_

Mortal. It is such a dirty word.


	14. Chapter 14

_The Fates do not weave the world. Rather, like the road building, connect cities with winding trails. And - as the traveler may choose any destination of his own will - they do not control the outcome. They wove a moment once, of a lazy afternoon in Asgard by a river, Nike and Thor sitting side by side. She tells him she cannot wait for their wedding, that she is terrible possessive of him alone. _

_"I thought you regarded that as mundane," Thor teases, running his hand along her arm and twining it with hers. "I thought monogamy was an unknown concept to you." _

_ She flushes. "I'm regretting I said anything." _

_ "Oh no, no you misunderstand me." he kisses her cheek. "I want nothing more than that. Nothing more than you." _

_ A shy smile crosses her face. "Does Asgard get terribly cold?" _

_ "For you, yes. We will visit Olympus often in the winter, and you will have all the furs you want to keep you warm." _

_ "What about you? Will you keep me warm?" _

_ With a grunt, he pulls her into his lap. "If you are cold, we will never leave bed." _

_ "What a sacrifice for you," she chirps brightly. _

_ "That will be your wedding present," he decides. "A fur cloak to keep you warm when I'm not there." _

_ "I love it already," she decides, and kisses him. _

_ The three sisters wove this path, only to tear it out, and never see it come to pass. _

Thor dreams that he is holding her. He dreams of a warm body pressed to his, of a neck begging to be kissed. He dreams that he is safe, and that she - content - never wants to leave, just rests in the circle of his arms.

He awakes reaching for her across a cold bed. The Asgardian sun rises, but the dawn is lifeless - cold and mocking. Two years had been enough time to forget her laugh before that dream. But there are duties to be done; he prepares for his day.

The day is well into its height, and he sits at a desk, composing a letter. Fandral and Sif sit on the other side, waiting.

"Are you feeling all right, Thor?" Sif asks finally. "Today is not a day for distance."

"Hm?" he did not notice that he was staring at the paper, having written nothing in quite sometime. "Yes, of course."

His two companions share a look. _No Midgardian should do this to him,_ their glance says. The Olympians would have scoffed at him; he is as Selene.

The throne room has a line of citizens, come with pleas for jobs or justice or even advice. For the first time, Thor sits alone. Odin is away, leaving him to deal with the folk. He helps as best as he can, but there is no passion in the act; he is distracted by his dream. The skin, the hair, the eyes haunt his thoughts. The line dwindles through the afternoon, and by supper it is entirely gone. There is a feast set: Winternights, to celebrate the coming of winter. It is loud and boisterous, and Thor plays along with the charade of being happy. At some point during the night some girl ends up in his lap, sloppy with drink and celebration. She is the kind of girl common to Asgard: tall, broad shouldered and hipped, with a soft middle and strong legs. All in all, a welcome distraction from dreams of thin lipped girls.

He is leaving with her when Fandral hits him on the back; he is sitting, practically intertwined with Sif. "Glad you forgot about Jane."

Thor stares at him, hazy through drink. "Jane?"

He is drunk. That is the only explanation for what he is seeing. She has obviously just arrived sitting on the edge of his bed, unlacing her boots. That is the alcohol too, he thinks, she does not wear boots or leather leggings or cropped jackets.

"I do not think of her as your type," Nike says dryly, eyeing the girl. "Leave." She scuttles from the room just as Thor finds his tongue.

"Loki! This is not funny."

She looks almost comically hurt for a moment before regaining her composure. "I can see why you would think that. It's far more logical to think he's doing this now, from a high secure cell, than that he helped me earlier, isn't it?" She pulls off her other boot, casting it aside. Her feet are covered in thick grey socks.

"What do you mean?"

She comes forward towards him. "It's me, Thor. I wanted my freedom, and…well, I took it."

The world spins around him, that last tankard of mead swirling in his head. "Why are you here?"

"I missed you." she takes his hand. It feels like her fingers, rough with callouses. "I need you, you know."

"Loki," he growls, "I will end you. You will never feel such pain as when-"

"Go to bed, stupid," she laughs softly. He's too drunk to see the redness around her eyes. "We'll talk in the morning. You'll hate me then more than Loki."

He dreams that night that she is there in his bed. She does not sleep against him, but rolls away to the other side, tense and stiff. It is only when he reaches out for her again and again that she curls against him, sighing into his shoulder.

The bed is cold when he wakes.


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing he does is visit Loki. The cells of Asgard are a surprisingly kind place to travel when one is hungover: the lights are dim, the stairways not overly treacherous. Guards let him pass without a word, and he navigates through the maze of glowing gold cells. Loki is at the center.

"Ah, brother! So kind of you to visit." Loki lounges on the floor, right by the wall. "It is so uncommon for me to get one visitor, much less two in a morning."

The apparition is there as well, lounging on the opposite side of the wall from Loki. She looks up at Thor with tired eyes. "Hello."

"You could not even get her coloring right, Loki!" Thor scoffs. "Have you forgotten what she looked like? A fool of a trick, I must say." She is paler than Nike, with darker hair, as if the sun has been stolen from her skin. He has put purple under her eyes as well, as if Nike ever had such exhaustion.

The apparition blinks at Loki. "Well, you did tell me it was a fool plan at the beginning. I suppose I should expect nothing less."

"I will have them check the barriers on your cell," Thor threatens. "Your magic should not be able to get through."

"You might ask why he's so disturbed though," Loki says to his creation. "The whole court is convinced he's pining over that Midgardian still. She broke it off just after you left. It's only I who know the truth." he winks conspiratorially.

Nike's - no, it's not Nike, he tells himself, just an illusion - face brightens slightly, despite her efforts to conceal it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he was always to proud say he love you."

"Enough!" Thor roars, swinging his hand violently through the illusion to dissipate it. Instead, his fist hits flesh. His arm falls limp, his mouth falling open, dazed. He must still be asleep, still be dreaming. Loki's illusions have no substance.

"Ow! Brute!" she turns to Loki. "You should have better prepared him for this."

"You did want him to think you dead, cuz. And I'm not entirely sure why you changed your mind."

She flushes and ignores this last bit. "Hm, yes. I suppose that was my request. In that case, let me commend you for your excellent confidant skills."

Thor stares, finally managing to choke out words. "Nike."

She stares up at him; her eyes are still the same, biting hazel. "Victoria. I am Victoria now. I've renounced my family's ways."

Grabbing her arms, he pulls her up, crushing her against him. "Victoria," he breathes. And kisses her, demandingly. "Victoria. Stay." It's the mouth that has been haunting the last several of his nights. He has dreamt of this back, sinewy under his hand. "I don't know why you left, but stay. Marry me."

She laughs mirthlessly. There are tears in her eyes. "You are a fool, Thor Odinson. You are perhaps the most obstinate fool I know. You have no reason to wed me now, I am of Olympus no longer."

"Stay, make me no more a fool." he pulls at her mouth with his own. Her knees threaten to give out - and her will as well. "I missed you. I needed you. I will wed you for that reason alone."

His bed is not cold the next morning when he wakes.

**End.**


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